


Here We Stand (At The Genesis)

by Telas_Selar



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Amputee main character, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cristóbal Rios has PTSD, Emil is 1701 percent stress and doesn't have enough espresso, Enoch saves the day because he is not just a cinnamon roll but a fast-thinking cinnamon roll, F/M, Gay S'vec Sylar, Hurt S'vec Sylar, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Mental Conditioning, Implied/Referenced Non-consensual Oral Sex, Implied/Referenced Past Torture, Implied/Referenced Physical Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Ruined Orgasm(s), Injured S'vec Sylar, Kissing, M/M, Mittens - Freeform, Mutual Pining (sort of), Narissa is absolutely horrible and if you don't know that already I can hardly help you, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, POW S'vec Sylar, Pansexual Cristóbal Rios, Praise kink (is it though? I really do not know), Pre-Picard AU, S'vec Sylar has PTSD, Syrios, Tied Up S'vec Sylar, Vulcan Kisses, Vulcan Language, Whipping, cut vocal cords, get Emil some espresso, implied/referenced eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telas_Selar/pseuds/Telas_Selar
Summary: Sylar is summoned to meet with an old friend and finds himself in a terrible predicament. Meanwhile, Emil regrets bringing up the files that drove Rios to alcohol poisoning the night before.
Relationships: Cristóbal Rios/S'vec Sylar, Implied Narissa Rizzo/S'vec Sylar, Implied S'vec Sylar & V'lerk Spak
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

“What is our navigational position?” Sylar asked the ENH by the way of a greeting, extending two fingers automatically to Rios as he spoke. 

He had spent the last half hour below decks with Emil dutifully taking his modified glucose treatment despite how much he disliked it - and discussing a new and surprisingly favourable development, something which brought him the unfamiliar sensation suspiciously close to _happiness_ every time he thought about it.

“Several hundred lightyears from earth, doctor” Enoch told him cheerfully, turning to see the Captain return the offered Vulcan kiss in silence. Rios was not a man who wore every emotion on his sleeve, yet it was easy to see that this small physical exchange meant a lot to him.

“Good. At the rate we are travelling, we should be in close enough range of San Francisco in under a few hours at maximum warp.”

Sylar turned back to the captain, his dull eyes sparkling for once. “Sir, I request permission to disembark temporarily in order to meet with Admiral V’lerk Spak. Despite the fact that I am not recognised by most Starfleet admirals, I knew him well in my early days of service, and he has asked to see me via subspace transmission.”

 _“Spak?”_ Rios sounded surprised, but he only leaned back further in his chair. Emil had not allowed him to take the controls yet, considering the fact that he was still somewhat intoxicated from the night before, but this was hardly a setback now, considering the current turn of conversation. “The first Vulcan officer in Starfleet to make Admiral?”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

“He’s practically a legend. I suppose it would make sense that you’d know him, _viejo._ ” 

He eyed the Vulcan carefully, noting how unusually euphoric he seemed - it was unusual, but Rios found that he liked it - it was a change from the quiet, stoic man he knew and loved, but it was not a _bad_ change. He could hardly disappoint him now, and besides, it wasn’t as if either of them had somewhere else to be right now.

“Permission granted. Just try not to take too long, hanging around Starfleet HQ isn’t as safe as it used to be with all these...new developments.”

He did not want to say “Romulans.”

Sylar, however, seemed completely undeterred by the implication. 

“Thank you, and I apologise if this is sudden but I cannot deny him such a request - he is the reason I was not discharged after my arrest in the last century. He helped convince Starfleet Command that my conditioning could be reversed.”

Cris nodded slowly, but he took the other man’s hand in his again, a somewhat subconscious action. The two had not separated for longer than several minutes at most since Sylar had joined the one-man crew of _La Sirena_ , and the Captain was slowly realising how much he was going to miss him, even if it was only for a short while. The Vulcan had become so much more to him than he knew how to express.

Still, this did not go unnoticed.

“Had he not sent a priority one message, I would have asked you to join me, Captain. He is a good man, somewhat like a grandfather to me.”

Sylar's eyes were sharp, even in a state like this one. He could pick out changes in the other’s emotional state, even if he never spoke of them.

“I understand, doctor” Rios said, silently grateful for the invitation, despite knowing that it was only half-hearted. “My own grandfather was very dear to me.”

Sylar opened his mouth to inquire further, but decided against it. If Cris wanted to share, then Cris would share. Instead, he reached under the neck of his uniform shirt with his free hand, unclasping his IDIC medallion and placing it gently in the Captain's palm, one eyebrow quirking up very slightly as he did so. 

“Should you happen to miss me, keep this with you.”

The other man opened his mouth to protest that he couldn’t possibly do that, but he fell silent as he noticed the Vulcan eyeing his hands shyly. An unusual thing, but this was hardly a Federation starship, they weren’t obliged to follow any particular rules of conduct.

Cris leaned in, caredully pressing his fingers against the Vulcan's own with a little too much pressure than was expected of a Vulcan bondmate, pulling away only to repeat his actions. 

By the time they reached San Francisco, Rios had successfully managed to leave his mark, and Sylar was flushed with exertion, his fingertips bright green from the other’s ministrations as he made his way to the transporter, thoughts of what lay ahead finally washing over him. 

It was somewhat unusual to be contacted by this man so many years after the incident with the time-space rupture, but the Vulcan was not complaining in the slightest. Spak was dear to him, and not only because he had had his back in the past.

He was genuinely a man of good conscience and a rightful methodology of justice and duty, someone Sylar had looked up to easily.

The Vulcan beamed down to HQ, still deep in thought, partly wishing Cris could have joined him - the two had not separated since they had become crewmates, and it was somewhat strange to be without him now.

Still...The Admiral had used a Priority One channel. He had _wanted_ them to be alone.

“Lieutenant Commander S'vec Sylar, Starfleet Medical" Sylar said the moment he reached the front desk. “I am here to meet with Admiral V'lerk Spak.” 

“Where's your combadge?” The ensign on duty inquired, in a somewhat bored tone, not recognising the dual swirls of the small badge that adorned the left side of the Vulcan's uniform. 

Slightly amused, Sylar's brow quirked up. 

"I serve aboard a civilian ship. This is my combadge."

“The Admiral is in his office” The ensign offered in a sharper tone, disliking the expression on the other's face. “He has requested to see you, according to this - but doctor, make it quick. He's very busy.” 

“I will remain for the duration for which he has requested my presence, ensign, not a minute longer or less.”

Upon seeing the younger officer's expression darken further at what he most probably saw as a hostile response, Sylar decided that he had most probably overstayed his welcome here, and raised his hand to give the ta'al. 

_“Dif-tor heh smusma.”_

He ignored the way the man stared at his mangled hand as he made his way down the hallway, deciding that that was unimportant. 

What _was_ important was whatever the Admiral needed. Was he hurt? No, that was illogical reasoning - there were more able-bodied doctors in the Federation than he could count, hundreds of thousands on Vulcan alone.

_Then perhaps it was a more personal problem..._

He knocked at the door before stepping in carefully, grateful for the dimmed lighting. His eyes already hurt immensely from the bright lighting of the main building - Spak knew him well.

“Admiral” He said by the way of a greeting as he turned around, hands clasped behind his back in the standard position. 

“Looking for the old man?” 

A female voice, sharp, clipped, no-nonsense with a clearly tense undertone cut through the silence as Sylar found himself straining to see through the darkness. 

“I had a meeting with the Adm-” 

“Oh of course you did, doctor, I arranged it.” 

Sylar's brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but his pulse began to race. This person sounded...no, that couldn't be. 

“I really didn't think you'd be this... _gullible_...after all my father did to you.” 

Before the Vulcan could say anything else, he found himself staring down a woman who wore the face of his darkest nightmare.

He froze immediately, even as she smirked, the Vulcan trigger phrase rolling off her tongue easily.

_“K'shatrisu, ha'kel t'du wilat?”_


	2. Chapter 2

Narissa Rizzo watched the Vulcan's fear build up, his struggle to prevent the blankness from taking him over, the way his hands moved to inflict pain on himself to balance out the disobedience, but she was ready for him.

In a matter of seconds, she had secured both of his hands in surgical mittens, preventing him from being able to do anything with them at all. It was easy to do.. He was disorientated and gradually weakening. It took even less time to secure his wrists to the overhead pipe and shove him back against the wall. 

“If you're wondering what I did with the dear old fool” She said slowly, indicating Spak's empty chair. “I killed him. Of course I made him record that message first, for old times' sake. How else could I have bypassed that asinine treaty? You're Federation after all, even if they've seemingly forgotten you exist.” 

“Colonel…” Sylar was struggling to break free of his bonds as much as he was fighting his conditioning, but he could not do either. His body was growing heavy, and his fists were so tightly encased in the mittens that digging his nails in was impossible.

The Romulan's smirk deepened as she pinched Sylar's chin with her fingertips, the same manic gaze her father had had gleaming in her eyes.

“What's the matter, doctor? Feeling a little... _overwhelmed?”_

As she spoke, her other hand moved to the Vulcan's uniform pants, making short work of them.

“No...Colonel please-” Sylar begged as he struggled wildly, his pulse racing as he realised exactly what she was about to do to him. "Please..no! _No!”_

“Remind me again why no one told me you don't know how to be quiet?” Narissa cut in with distaste. “Oh, no matter, this hallway's deserted. No one will ever hear your screams. You will scream won't you? I really hope so, this would be so _dull_ otherwise. And goodness knows I _hate_ monotony. Now spread your legs for me.” 

“Please, please don't do this-” He'd begged as she eyed him with a lustful hunger he knew only too well. 

The Romulan let out an impatient sigh before allowing her grip to shift to the other's throat instead, a humourless smile tugging at her lips. 

“I said _spread_ your _legs._ Don't make me force you, I can't guarantee that you'll like it if I do.”

Trembling with equal parts fear and forced arousal from his former training, the Vulcan slowly parted his legs, making the woman's smirk deepen as she kicked them further apart and stepped closer to keep them that way, fingertips moving to gently caress his inner thighs. 

“Good boy” She praised him, her tone laced with a cruel sort of amusement. “See, that wasn't so hard now, was it? Keep up this obedience and I _might_ just allow you an orgasm.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You think I could get a damn _drink_ yet or are you gonna keep _bothering_ me about it?” Cristóbal Rios inquired irritably as the EMH analysed his blood alcohol levels with a steady hand. 

“You know I would” Emil replied lightly, with only a touch of irritation. “Except you got so bloody _drunk_ last night I couldn't trust you with a _paperclip_ , let along the controls of a starship.”

Ignoring the Captain's indignated cursing, Emil lowered his scanner. Rios was no longer at risk, but if he repeated what he'd done 24 hours ago, he would be again in no time. 

“Actually” the EMH said, dismissing the virtual screen to eye the other man sternly. “I want to know what you were thinking in the first place. I mean, the last time you decided to-” 

“Research” the Captain cut in grumpily, sitting up on the biobed. “You can just say it went dark pretty damn quickly.”

“Well, what sort of information were you looking at?” 

“Old Starfleet files.”

He turned away from Emil's searching gaze to roll up the sleeves of his discarded shirt and pull it back on. He did not want to talk about this now, or at any time really. What he'd seen was enough to leave him in a state of dissociative horror, and he had no intention of rehashing any of it. 

But as he walked out of sickbay, the EMH watched him only momentarily, deciding to retrace his digital steps and find out what Rios had seen. He knew that the Captain would not be pleased, but it hardly mattered - knowing what he had been exposed to was the best course of action if he was to offer any _useful_ help. 

Surprisingly, it didn't take long, but it wasn't pleasant.

Bypassing both Rios and Sylar's access codes, Emil found the official Starfleet reports post-Sylar's arrest, including the death certificates of the eleven men he had tortured and killed gruesomely, as well two audio files marked as progress reports and Rh'vaurek Maelrok's personnel file as gathered by the Federation.

Having already seen the death certificates and the personnel file on the late Tal Shiar agent, the EMH decided to direct his attention to the audio files.

The first file seemed like a recording of some form of interrogation, but the audio told him that it wasn't the regular. 

Someone, presumably another Federation doctor, was asking questions in a mixture of Romulan, Vulcan and Standard, trying to get Sylar to talk about his time on Romulus.

The Vulcan was responding, albeit slowly, cut off every so often by something which sounded suspiciously like a whip. But he did not let out any indication of pain, only several seconds of hesitation between his answers, making Emil's anger rise to the surface. He knew the other well enough by now to know what marked his periods of disassociation. 

Still, the EMH forced himself to focus again as he played the second file, which was much longer than the first, lasting about an hour or so, the inquiries this time about loyalty, and the objective of Sylar's mission. 

The voice of the late Ambassador Sarek could be heard on the tape, constantly telling the interrogator to pause, to give the younger Vulcan a chance to recuperate between the combination of questions and physical pain.

The whip from before was clearly an electrical one, confirmed by the soft crackling undertone to the audio, but Sylar did not cry out even once, dutifully giving answers in a blank monotone until the strikes became much more frequent, and his voice regained a normal quality, the answers changing with it.

Yes, he swore fealty to the Federation. No, he was not a soldier in the service of the Romulan Star Empire.

He was a doctor, not a murderer or a spy or even a soldier.

He was S'vec Sylar from T'Paal, Vulcan, and he was not bound to Romulus under any circumstances.

Then there was a dull thud, which presumably meant that Sylar had collapsed. 

The file ended with the interrogator leaving the room, Sarek whispering an apology twice, sounding breathless, and left Emil sickened beyond compare. 


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Narissa had finished with him, Sylar was too far gone to know his own name, although his body had reacted in a manner far contradictory to his mind, the sensation of the Romulan woman's boot applying pressure between his legs one he could not shy away from, the way she had forced him to service her predominant in his mind. 

He knew, deep down, that he hated it with every fibre of his being, but he was not permitted to have those thoughts and besides, he could hardly run, or even turn away, and his vocal cords had burned from how much he'd strained them, begging her to stop over and over until she'd made an incision in his neck deep enough to prevent any speech at all.

Now she'd cut him loose, left him on the floor of the office which had once belonged to a man he'd called grandfather in his mind, choking on his own blood, struggling to force his hands to work again, to make himself presentable.

He was somewhere between activation and his regular state, but it made for an unpleasant purgatory.

The Vulcan's heart was pounding, the blood from his wound pumping out at the same rhythm as his pulse. He had a severed artery…and yet he did not find it to be of the utmost importance.

He had to request a beam up, and he had to do it _now_ , before _she_ came back. But even as he tapped his combadge, he realised that he still could not speak, the only thing coming from his throat being a low whistling sound, made worse by the fact that the blood in his throat had gone down the wrong airway.

Thankfully the ENH, who had been monitoring the comms while an aggrieved Rios rested, had the sense to lock the transporter beam on the presumably injured CMO instead of trying to ask him anything, beaming him directly to sickbay as a precaution.

Emil, meanwhile, had been calmly analysing some chemical samples, trying to get the thoughts of what he’d listened to off his mind, but any hope for a peaceful night was shattered when Sylar rematerialised half a metre away, bruised and bleeding, a trembling hand wrapped around his own throat as his muscles spasmed, looking as if he’d practically crawled out of the darkest depths of Dante's Inferno. 

“Oh _bloody_ hell-” The EMH exclaimed before he dropped to his knees by the wounded man.


	5. Chapter 5

The Captain had just settled down with _Tragic Sense of Life_ for the first time in weeks when the panicked EMH’s voice sounded over the comm, making him snap the book shut.

“What?” He demanded grouchily. “You better not tell me Sylar’s planning to stay in that meeting for much longer, I want to leave orbit before sundown.”

“Actually, he's back” Emil responded delicately as he looked over the unconscious Vulcan with barely concealed distress. “But I’m a bit more concerned with the fact that he’s clearly been _tortured_..in more ways than one.”

And that was the moment where Rios thought his heart would give out, his legs supporting him faster than his mind could process, the metallic railing burning his palms as he slid down it, ignoring the adjacent steps as he rushed to sickbay, pulse hammering sickeningly in his throat.

_This is all my fault.._


End file.
